


You're beautiful to me

by kirschtrash



Series: Musical Musings [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU where Jean is also happy and sappy and really gay, AU where Marco is alive and happy and perfect and beautiful, Bullying, Chubby Marco Bott, Dork Jean Kirstein, Everyone Is Alive, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, alcohol mention, enjoy this ehe, mentions of bullying, past bullying, rlly mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirschtrash/pseuds/kirschtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I take my pick."</p><p>"Okay, go on - what is it?"</p><p>"I- I spy, with my little eye... Something- something <em>alluring</em>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're beautiful to me

**Author's Note:**

> HI GUYS so this is a prequel to [Sweater Weather](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4981018) \- this is like a backstory of how they got together! I hope u like all the Chub!Marco and Dork!Jean in this! <3 (Also i hope u guys ease ur pain from snk77 with this fluffy piece go live ur life c:)
> 
> Also here's the [twitter](https://twitter.com/kirschtrash) and [tumblr](http://kirschtrash.tumblr.com/)!

[ _**Listen to this song for the fluffy feel** _ ](http://mp3clan.net/play.php?type=get&s=5ba206af5e7363a0d0dd334c44e93aed&tid=5100163_91327722&name=Alex_Band_-_Will_Not_Back_Down.mp3)

 

* * *

 

 

_**You're beautiful to me.** _

 

 

“Alright, it’s your turn, now.” 

“Okay! Hm… I spy with my little eye… something… gross.”

Jean wrinkles his nose. “ _Gross_?”

Marco nods in response. Fingers gripping his bottle of beer tight, he says, “Yup, _really_ gross.”

“That’s sorta vague,” he has to counter, “hm, lets see… how many legs does it got?”

“Many.”

Jean’s eyebrows shoot up till his hairline.

“ _Many_?” he echoes.

Again, he nods. “Many,” he confirms.

Jean can’t help but gulp dryly. He should have expected all kinds of creepy insects lurking around the woods where they had decided to camp, after all - more so, when the night had finally crawled into the open. For all he knows, the log against which he is leaning could be filled with all kinds of ‘ _gross_ ’ things that Marco’s spying.

The thought makes him cringe a little. Subconsciously, he holds his legs closer to himself.

“O-okay, then," he tries, "I-it’s gotta be a- maybe a _centipede_ , right?”

Marco cocks his head to one side. Yellow light streams from their small lantern, standing beside Jean’s feet. But it’s light is nothing but a hopeless ray compared to the thick darkness surrounding them. It looks solid to Jean, as if he could feel the darkness the moment he’d immerse his hands into the dense woods. The thought seems scary - scary, yet strangely magnificent.

It is only after a thoughtful moment that Marco replies:

“Well, technically it’s a millipede - and I spy it on your head.”

Jean’s eyes blow as wide as saucers.

His hands are on his head before he’s even registered them, a loud, shrill yelp escaping his lips hurriedly. His fingers are scrambling through his blond hair, combing that disgusting little creature out of his scalp as soon as he can-

But he is interrupted by a bout of bright, bubbly laughter.

He stops himself, his hands hovering in his hair. He squints at the devil sitting beside him, who is too busy cackling like a maniac.

Marco finally recovers - enough to splutter:

“I was- I was kidding, _God_ -” he wheezes, “I’m so sorry- but your face was just epic!”

He falls back into another fit of giggles. Jean is still squinting at him - angrily so - as he extracts his hands away from his hair. With a roll of his eyes, he searches for another bottle of beer inside the crate beside him. Leaning against the log again, he pops open his bottle, and chugs half of it straight down. Marco is still not done, but he has calmed down a bit - though he does not stop talking about how ‘ _dumb_ ’ Jean looked, laughing at the way he tended to his hair like it was his child.

On other circumstances, Jean would have grumbled at him, maybe even barked a few remarks of his own - but he doesn’t.

He’s confused about something; why is he feeling flushed - is it because of the mild embarrassment he just experienced, or is it because of Marco’s amazing laughter?

It is Marco’s voice that breaks that state of puzzled reverie.

“Ah, okay, okay,” he sighs, catching tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry, man - you can get a free turn if you wish! My treat!”

Jean scoffs. “You’re saying it like it’s some once-in-a-lifetime offer.”

“And it is! C’mon, I’m not that good all the time.”

Jean shakes his head, laughing at his voice, heavy with bravado. When he glances back at Marco, he feels his breath stop for a second - how can his eyes shine so bright, even in the darkness?  
They glitter with a feeling of mirth, he sees; a giddiness he has had around people long before Jean had befriended him. There is a certain kindness to them, too. Anyone can catch that aura of gentleness his whole being radiates, like a warm, compelling embrace. It almost feels too good to be true - and yet, Jean has admired that quality in him since ever.

But not everyone did. Other people did not admire him at all.

Those very people were the ones who bullied Marco. Those were the stupid girls and boys who found it fulfilling to pick on him, to call him names - to call him ‘ _fat_ ’, back in their school-going years.

Even then, Marco never fought back - because he was _kind_. He had never picked a fight, never talked bitterly, never fought battles. Instead, he had ignored it all; he had evaded those remarks as well as he could, but he never ever afflicted others with scars. He never wounded anyone with his words purposefully - no matter how many times he was bent and hurt himself.

Back then, Jean tried to teach him to hold his own with a little ruthlessness. He had tried to let him know how fighting back was always a better notion than just surrendering to all of the hurt he had to go through.

“You don’t have to suffer like that, you _don't_ ,” was what he had told him once, back in high school. They had been younger, back then; young, 18 year-old youths, who were just as impressionable. The two of them had hidden behind the white, dirty bleachers, in a night as dark as the present one. Jean had held his shoulders hard and shook him harder, trying to tell him that he should not suffer like that - _not alone_.

But Marco had shaken his head softly. He had been trying so hard to hide his wet sobs, yet anyone could have seen the thick drops of salty tears bordering his big, brown eyes. Jean still remembers how much that mere glance had twisted his insides, like a knife running deep in his gut.

And then, Marco had _smiled_. He had smiled through the pain. It was a frail, weak thing; a smile so thin and pale it felt ghostly. With that, he had also whispered shakily:

“Th-thanks, Jean. But… it-it’s not worth it. I don’t want to be the bad guy. I- I wanna do good.”

 _Good_ was what he had wanted to do all his life. _Good_ was what had prevented him from hitting those sly bastards that had been making his life a hard feat, with snarky comments and stupid gestures at his figure. He never hurt anyone back - because he was _good_. He never wanted to be the victor, not if he'd end up being the bad guy.

 

It is one of the many things Jean has admired about him. It is one of the many reasons why he's been falling for him ever since.

 

The whole recurrence of that distant memory feels sudden, out in the cold night. Jean takes another long drink out of his beer bottle, the liquid sloshing in the glass, and stinging the back of his throat mildly. He spies Marco with a fleeting glance; his legs, clad in a pair of dirty jeans, are splayed open, his beer bottle half-empty within his grip. The sleeves of the lilac sweater he sports are hiked up his arms, bunching around his elbows. Even in the growing darkness, Jean can practically count the numerous freckles on his arms; he can trace them with one another like one would map out stars, creating shapes and patterns he only dreams of creating with his own finger against his skin - if he could.

Again, Marco’s voice snaps him back to reality:

“It’s your turn now, Jean.”

Jean sighs. Taking another gulp of his drink, he searches for something to spy with his little eye. Their game had continued for so long he is sure that there is nothing left to spy anymore. He looks at both his sides. He then stares at the green, mossy forest floor - and finds nothing new, nothing to spy. Helplessly, he stares at the sky, hoping to find something to continue their game.  
Instead, he is met by a dark, gaping mass of emptiness, with no more than a handful of stars, glittering at them like diamonds. He has to squint through the canopy of leaves hooding over them, but he can still note how they twinkle at the pair brightly.

It is as if he had read his mind. 

“They’re beautiful, right?” Marco says just then.

Jean nods in response. When silence lapses on for a moment too long, Jean looks back at Marco.

But he is not met by that twinkly look of mirth; Marco is too busy gazing at the sky. A soft smile graces his lips, white teeth baring themselves brightly, even in the dimness. The freckles on his cheeks look like stars of their own from where Jean’s sitting, and his eyes roam from one speckle to the next, mapping out galaxies of his own.

After a time that feels like forever, he finally says, “Makes you wanna be like one, right?”

There is a wistful tone to the words Marco breathes. There is a breathlessness that curves itself around the vowels and consonants he speaks. It is gaping, wide open - it feels desperate. It is then that Jean realizes that Marco wants to be like the stars above.

Marco does not think he is beautiful.

Jean resists the urge to shake his head at him. _You are beautiful_ , are the words he wants to profess, words he has wanted to speak for three years. But how does he say them?

Without thinking twice, Jean blurts out:

“I take my pick.”

That catches Marco’s attention. The moment dissolves as soon as it had arrived, as he beams eagerly, scooting closer to him than before. Jean has to try not to burn at the feeling of Marco’s leg pressing into his own, instead focusing all his senses at the question he asks:

“Okay, go on - what is it?”

With a dry gulp, Jean makes a silent prayer to any Gods listening to him - to give him the strength he needs to not be a total ass in front of his crush - and then goes ahead:

“I- I spy, with my little eye… Something- something _alluring_.”

That makes Marco squint. “Alluring?” he asks.

Jean confirms it with a tiny nod. _What is he doing?_

“ _Alluring_ , huh? Well… is it some flower?”

Jean shakes his head.

“Nature?”

He shakes his head again.

Marco huffs in annoyance. “Okay, then - describe it a little. Color, shape, size…?”

“That- that’s a little hard…” he mutters to himself.

“‘ _Hard_ ’? C'mon, Jean - how hard can it be?”

He scratches his undercut sheepishly, trying to come up with words to describe what he is spying. _How can I put it all in words? It- it’s impossible._

But he tries anyway. Daringly, he sits a little closer, and says, “Well, it _is_ alluring. It- it’s really pretty. It’s something like- something that makes me really happy.”

Marco squints for a long, long moment. Jean is sure he had said something wrong, till his friend asks suspiciously, “This isn’t about _Mikasa_ , is it?”

Jean splutters. “W-what? No! No, Marco- ugh, that was just _one_ time, back in high school!” he groans, smothering his face in his hands.

His freckled friend laughs beside him. He feels warmth press against his side again, almost insistently. When Jean looks up again, he is met by the biggest pair of deep, brown eyes he has ever seen. They are tinted with a sheepish, nervous look. His black lashes make soft shadows against his chubby cheeks, and if he had thought there were numerous freckles on his arms, it is a whole other story on his face - they could have easily crossed a hundred.

“If it’s not Mikasa,” Marco says softly, “Then… Then what? The sky, maybe?”

For a sudden moment, Jean is reminded of stars; stars dotting a black night sky, and stars speckled across warm skin.

He knows which ones he’s spying.

“You’re close,” he whispers.

Marco groans tiredly. He throws his hands in the air helplessly, saying, “Ugh, I give up! Tell me already!”

Jean has to smother a giggle, because the way he is pouting at him, with big doe eyes, he looks downright cute. When his eyes run over his face again, curving over his sugar-dusted cheeks, rounded nose, soft lips - he finally understands what it means to ‘ _fuck it all_ ’.

Taking advantage of how damn close they had gotten, Jean leans his face closer and closer, till he can catch the scent of beer on Marco’s warm breath. It fans over him in faint gusts, growing fainter as he gets closer. But he only stops once he can literally _feel_ his heat, radiating off of him, embracing him warmly.  
It is then that he tilts his head, so that his lips come close to Marco’s ear. He can feel him tense beside him, maybe at the proximity of it all, or at the suspense of what could come next.

Licking his lips, Jean speaks, in a soft voice:

“This ' _something_ ' is really, _really_ special - and… And he’s right here.”

When Jean leans back, he hopes to see a pink blush dusting over his chubby cheeks; he expects to catch a glimpse of euphoria dancing in his eyes, or even a smile.

What he actually gets is not what he had hoped at all.

Marco just stares at Jean - not in happiness, not in delight, or love. He just stares, with a mouth slightly agape, in utter shock, disbelief.

And then, he shakes his head. He bites his lip hard, before barking out a hollow laugh.

“Y-you’re drunk right now, right?” he asks.

_What is he talking about?_

“W-what?” Jean asks, unsure.

“Or maybe you- ah, I see. Heh, this- this must be a prank!”

“What? Why would you think that-”

_Oh._

After all the words that bent and broke him before, Jean should have expected this - _denial._

“Of course it is,” Marco insists, his hands fretfully clutching his thighs, “I- I mean, why would you- why would anyone like me?”

_What is he saying?_

_God, Marco, don’t say that._  

Jean has always been persistent. He has always been too proud and stubborn to admit to anything. And here too, he will not stop. He will not back down.

He will not hesitate to tell him that he is beautiful. Because that is the truth.

“But Marco, I’m being honest-” he tries.

“B-but why?” Marco pleads, looking up with watery eyes, “What’s so special in me?”

“Where do I start-”

“I mean, for starters, I- I’m fat, I eat all the time-”

“Marco-”

“I sleep a lot, I I- I’ve got no talent, or much of anything-”

“Hey, that’s not true-”

“And b-besides, I don’t even text back fast like the rest. And I can’t stand phone calls longer than 30 minutes! I’ll be the worst person to date!”

“C’mon, Marco-”

“Y-you should find someone better, Jean, someone who’s anyone but me-”

Jean cannot take it anymore. He silences him - not with words, not with his actions, not with his hands.

He shushes him with his lips on his.

He did not even think of it twice, but now he is not thinking at all. His mind is all but filled with white-noise, when his lips press into his into a soft, gentle kiss. Jean cannot help but hum when he tilts his face a little, capturing another kiss, then another, and then another. Marco sighs through his nose, and Jean is ready to melt when he feels his warm hand against his jaw, and the taste of his minty breath, along with the beer he had been drinking.

It is all too overwhelming - he has to break away soon, afraid that once he would kiss him again, he would never stop.

He opens his eyes blearily, staring at a positively red Marco Bodt, still biting his lip nervously.

This time, Jean does not stop a giggle, too amused at his friend’s reaction.

Well, he is no ‘ _friend_ ’, anymore, right?

As expected, Marco pouts again. Through his deep flush, he stammers, “W-what’s the matter now? What-what’re you laughing at! Is there- th-ah, haha, there’s something on my face, right? _Huh_?”

Jean cannot stop his giggles, nor can he come up with any kind of reply for Marco. So he tries something else; he places his hand on the log behind of them. But it does not go quite as planned.

Somehow, he did not put his hand right. An attempt to shift to his side only serves to push the _log_ altogether, so that it's sent tumbling ahead. Jean’s own hand slips over the slick, moss-covered forest floor, his chest slamming right into Marco. Marco yelps loudly, as his own attempts to stay upright fail brilliantly. It is after a series of curses and cries of surprise until the both of them are sent reeling backwards, landing on the soft, earthen ground with a thud.

Jean could be complaining about the slick moss covering his hand, or the fact that his plan to seem cool just failed oh so amazingly - but he is too busy at reflecting upon his state;

The two of them had fallen, alright, but Marco is the one to land on the floor - Jean is on top of him.

 _Oh God._  

“ _F-fuck_ ,” he swears. Carefully, he hovers over him, with his hands beside either side of his head. “I- I’m sorry, I- I _uhm_ \- fuck, I didn’t plan out my c-confession like-like this.” When his eyes land on his pretty, lilac sweater, pressed into the dirty ground, he swears again. “Ah, shit, I- I didn’t ruin your sweater, did I-?”

But he's interrupted - with another bout of laughter.

Marco hides his smile behind his hands, but they cannot smother his bright giggles. His skin is still flushed a pretty pink, but the edges of his eyes crinkle with happiness, and they glitter as bright as the stars had before.

Jean should have gotten off of him. He should have brushed himself off, gotten Marco off of the floor like any normal person would.

Instead, he smiles a little. God, has he fallen hard for him, or what?

After forever, Marco takes his hands off of his mouth. He doesn’t smile, though; apologetically, he whispers, “I-I’m sorry.”

This time, Jean squints. “Why?”

“F-for acting really- really weird before...”

“Marco, you’re not the one who just pummeled us to the ground, are you now?”

He laughs again, but it feels nervous. Biting his lip again, he looks away timidly, saying, “B-but still…”

It is Jean’s turn to shake his head. Before he can decide better, he lifts a hand, and holds his chin, making him meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he insists the freckled man, “It- it’s okay. Really. I get it that- that all this feels a little… A little new. B-but I won’t back down, for the record. I’ll- I’ll stay with you. I’ll remind you all the things that make you beautiful, b-because that’s all you really are.”

He never really planned that speech. He never planned anything like that. But when those last words leave his mouth, he knows he means - and believes - in everything he just said.

When Marco stops biting his lip, and smiles a soft smile, as gentle as his soul, Jean knows he believes the same, too.

Jean does not recall ever closing the gap between them, does not remember closing his eyes when he did. All he distinctly remembers is the feeling of a pair of lips, as supple as silk, that kiss his own. He remembers the taste of a sugary-sweet smile, that curved and fit against him, like a perfect match.

Through their kisses, Jean makes it his aim to make Marco believe that he is beautiful, that he is loved, that his body will never make him love him any less. He wants nothing more than to make every inch of him feel all the love and care and pure delight he deserves.  
He knows that there might be days when Marco won't believe his praises. There might be those kinds of bad days when all Marco wants to do his leave his skin and being altogether. There might be days ahead, when he might fail to see the beauty in himself.

But Jean won't give up. He'll hold him if he loses his way, kiss his worries away, and love him for everything he is.

Come hell or high water, he won't back down.

**Author's Note:**

> If ur thirsty for Chub!Marco and/or ur pain from the snk manga has been relieved, then comment below! Or even if u wanna share some constructive criticism, im up for it all!  
> I'll catch up with my mutlichaptered fics now - and not procrastinate haha!
> 
> Thankyou for reading! Until next time, toodles~


End file.
